


Tortured Souls and Clumsy Builders

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1890s au, Extremely Slow Burn, M/M, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Racism, Winchester House au, bc i'm making the chapters really short, construction worker!c. c., ghost!ricky, there's gonna be a ton of parts to this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13965081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tinsley, after failing his sergeant's exam, decides to step down from his detective career and work for the infamous Sarah Winchester in her frantic attempt to construct a house she'd been planning for years. Ricky, an angry, captive spirit is getting bored with only taunting Sarah, and believes Tinsley would be quite the entertaining target for his shenanigans.





	1. Tinsley's on thin ice

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so obsessed with the Winchester mystery house and this was the result. You can thank my overtired, ghoul-driven brain for this one, folks.  
> Oh, and when I say these chapters will be short, I mean SHORT.

"You mean to tell me... the great C.C. Tinsley is leaving?" Officer Marcel teased, his slim fingers fidgeting with the rim of his cap. Marcel's unspoken excitement wasn't difficult to notice; everyone at the station knew the young officer was itching for a promotion, and Tinsley's departure would give him that opportunity for sure. "What a shame, really. Who's gonna lose our case files and let go of our leads once you're gone?" 

Tinsley gritted his teeth in annoyance. He really needed a smoke to deal with Marcel's nonsense, but was disappointed to find he still had half an hour before his break. With an overdramatic sigh, he rolled his eyes. "If it weren't for the brass right around the corner I'd plunk ya," Tinsley threatened, only half-jokingly. "Yes, I'm leaving. Wanted some variety." Tinsley couldn't admit to anyone the real reason he was bouncing. Failing his sergeant's exam would only make him look like more of a lunkhead and if no one could respect him at the station, there was no point in staying.

The soon-to-be unemployed detective tuned out his coworker as he packed the little knick-knacks on his desk into a large cardboard box. Nostalgia washed over him, making his chest burn and his stomach knot. All of his friends were at this station. He'd miss golfing on Sundays and he'd even look back on the interrogation room with sorrowful reminiscence. Once the last ridiculous trinket was stored away and the box was taped shut, Tinsley's shoulders slouched in both relaxation and dejection. This was it. From this point on, his title of detective would be completely wiped away, never again to be seen.

 

Weeks later, C.C. found himself at the steps of Mrs. Sarah Winchester's peculiar home. Builders were scattered across the estate, giving each other instructions. C.C. had little experience with construction work, other than a bookshelf he made with his father back in grade school, but he figured with the amount of people working on Mrs. Winchester's project it wouldn't matter. To his surprise, not many of his future coworkers were very skilled when he got around to chewing the fat with them. Over drinks after his first night on the job, Tinsley learned quite a bit about Sarah and her "nutty situation," as Lawrence, one of the workers, put it.

"Says there's ghosts livin' here," Lawrence rasped, his crooked and yellowing teeth poking out in a foolish grin. "She's a real battle-ax if ya argue with her on it. I almost got fired once, all 'cause I insulted her husband's rifle company." He clasped his hands behind his head, leaning back on his rusty bar stool. Tinsley agreed, for the most part. Though he thought ghosts were dotty and unlikely, he saw Mrs. Winchester as a very kind woman. She invited Tinsley for tea earlier that day during his lunch break, and he even got a tour of the majority of the home. He didn't think much of it when she skipped over a few closed off hallways and assumed there may have been guests staying there that didn't want to be bothered.

Tinsley nodded along distractedly as Lawrence went on a tangent about Sarah's "unreachable and extensive blueprints" that increased exponentially and how he'd be "goldang if we're all still alive by the time this damn project is finished." At least his coworkers-and perhaps new friends- were slightly amusing. Maybe he wouldn't long for his former job as much as he speculated. 


	2. 2: what's eating ricky goldsworth?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a glimpse into the character of our beloved ricky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is extra short. very sorry, but i'll have more up later this week!

“I don’t think you heard me,” the apparition hissed. He leaned over Sarah’s shoulder and smirked, watching her frail hands tremble as she fought to keep a tight grip on her pen. Her crossed legs on the dusty floorboards were twitching as well. Ricky, satisfied with the old woman’s cowardice, pulled back and folded his buff arms across his chest. “I want this room to be the largest on the estate. I want it stocked with food and packed floor to ceiling with books from my old home. You know, the one where I was  _ shot _ ?” He gestured at the three holes in his chest. They once had blood gushing from them; the memory sent a chill down Ricky's spine.

 

Ricky loved the power he gained from haunting Sarah. His past life was spent being pushed around; often told he was too soft and pathetic. The end of his life was just as tragic, if not more, having been shot by a racist bull, simply for walking into a shop to buy some smokes. As a ghost, he could punk around as much as he’d like without the consequences. Sarah nodded, her shoulders sinking in defeat as she sketched her requested blueprints. Ricky wandered around the room that would soon be his, taking it in, when something caught his eye out the window.

 

A man, possibly around age 26, was squinting at the very window the ghost was standing in. Could he see his figure? No, that would be ridiculous. Ricky made a point in keeping hidden, only exposing himself to Mrs. Winchester. He grimaced, pushing the thought away, and strode back over to Sarah. “I’m going to the greenhouse,” he told her, harshness in his tone. “I want this finished by midnight. Not a second later.”

 


End file.
